---
The storm had passed.
The rain stopped just before sunrise, leaving the palace blanketed in silver fog and the faint smell of earth. But inside the Prince's chamber, a different kind of silence lingered.
Shèng Lín woke first.
The weight of the Prince was curled against his side—hair messy, arm draped across Shèng Lín's chest, breathing soft and deep. His bare skin was warm, and his lips slightly parted in sleep.
It felt like a dream.
It felt dangerous.
Shèng Lín stared at the ceiling for a long time, then gently unwrapped the Prince's arm from around him, carefully rising without waking him.
He dressed in silence, his hands shaking just enough to betray how badly his heart didn't want to leave that bed.
---
When the Prince awoke, the other side of the bed was cold.
He sat up, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the curtains. The air still smelled faintly of wine, sweat, and something more sacred.
He reached to his side, half-asleep—
But no one was there.
> "Shèng Lín?" he called.
No answer.
He frowned.
---
The two did not speak the entire morning.
Shèng Lín remained distant, avoiding the Prince's gaze during sparring reports, speaking only when necessary during escort duties. His voice was calm, his posture perfect, but it was as if he had locked a door the Prince didn't remember closing.
That night, the Prince entered the chamber they now often shared.
Shèng Lín was already inside, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap like he was waiting to be judged.
The Prince didn't speak right away.
He walked in slowly, eyes never leaving him.
> "You're quiet," the Prince said.
> "So are you."
> "You left without saying anything."
Shèng Lín looked down.
> "It was morning."
> "And last night?" the Prince asked, stepping closer. "Was it nothing to you?"
> "It was…" He hesitated. "A mistake."
The words felt like ice down the Prince's spine.
He stopped walking.
> "You really think that?" he asked, softer now.
Shèng Lín finally looked up.
> "I don't know what I think. But I know we can't keep doing this. You want answers. I won't give them. And this thing between us… it can't end anywhere good."
The Prince's face darkened, not with anger, but hurt.
> "You think I care about who you were more than who you are now?"
Shèng Lín clenched his fists.
> "I think you don't know how much it'll cost you when others find out."
> "Then let them," the Prince said. "Let the world scream. I'll burn it all before I let go of you again."
The words hung there.
Raw. Honest.
And terrifying.
Shèng Lín stood, brushing past him, voice barely a whisper.
> "You don't even know the full truth yet."
> "Then tell me!" the Prince snapped, turning to him. "Tell me so I can choose you with open eyes."
But Shèng Lín just shook his head, already walking away.
> "You won't choose me after that."
The door shut softly behind him.
And the Prince stood in silence, eyes burning with frustration, with longing…
…with the ache of a heart that had tasted something real, and didn't know how to let it go.
---